


Mikkel's Musings

by wavewright62



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen, Tell us what you really think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7993099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavewright62/pseuds/wavewright62
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is in answer to Lazy8's 12th Chapter Break Relationships Challenge, in which I look at Mikkel's relationships with the other members of the crew, from his POV.  Inspired by the language cards Tuuri hands out at the end of Chap. 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mikkel's Musings

Tuuri passed out her next round of language cards on another dreary rainy day. Mikkel looked briefly at his card, the Danish words written neatly down one side and the Finnish ones on the other. He had been surprised to receive the first one; after all, it had been his suggestion to make up cards for her teammates in the first place.

He looked at Tuuri cheerfully passing out the cards to each person. Tuuri had been plucky to come on this mission, Mikkel thought, but it was the kind of reactionary pluckiness born of adolescent rebellion. She was so arrogant in insisting she should be doing the skald work when Mikkel simply wished to examine some of the materials himself, but now that Mikkel had spoken with her humourless older brother, he could see how that may have come about. He had come to the realisation that to get the best out of her and stop the obstinate recalcitrance, he had to make sure she had a supply of projects that she thought were her own idea. She had taken on the language card idea with the remarkable energy of youth. But, Mikkel mused, did he really have to learn Finnish?

Mikkel supposed that it was because the only person he couldn't speak to directly already was Lalli. Lalli was given two cards, one with Swedish and one with Icelandic. Mikkel would have thought that was a waste of time, but to his credit, the bony boy was curled under the bunk peering at them, yawning, but clutching them like they were a lifeline. Maybe they were, maybe they were. There was something past the vacant expression after all. He obviously had a splendid memory, refined through the fine Finnish oral tradition of songs and stories. He was a loner, too much of a loner for such a small team,but maybe he had realised that himself and was now willing to learn.

A fluttering in his peripheral vision caught Mikkel's eye. It was a card written from Swedish to Icelandic. Sigrun's card, then, no surprise there. She was checking the edge on her knife instead. Typical, Mikkel had met many people like her over the years. Lives for action, and actually believes she thrives on combat. When they came to the gate at the end of the Øresund Bridge, young Tuuri had noticed the names carved into the gate, the names of the fallen in the Kastrup campaign. Sigrun ignored them, and just wanted to force her way through, even though it was late afternoon already. It would have done her well to contemplate those names, many of them were just like her. He bent down to retrieve Sigrun's card, and handed it back to her. She tried to ignore his pointed look, but then sheathed the knife and took the card impatiently with her good hand. "Generals speak Icelandic," he murmured to her sotto voce. She looked at him like he'd grown a second head, then did a double-take as his meaning sunk in. Good girl, there's hope for you yet.

Emil was given two cards as well, but Mikkel noticed he'd put his Icelandic card behind the Finnish one, which he was now peering at and silently mouthing the words, his eyebrows moving up and down most comically. He would be aghast if he knew how comedic his expressions were, he was so vain and self-conscious. His file said he'd studied to be a skald before joining the cleansers; he should already know Icelandic well. The fact that he didn't know it at all reinforced Mikkel's impression of an arrogant twit. Still, he had grown a bit in the last several weeks, maybe this mission would be the making of him. Maybe Sigrun had the right idea, just keep throwing him in the deep end. Watching him struggle with the Finnish reminded Mikkel of a fish that had just been pulled out of the deep end. And that reminded him that they needed to rig up some fishing gear or at least a net, he knew there was fish in the rivers here.

Maybe he'd get young Reynir onto making a net. The boy had figured out how to knit with some needles he'd fashioned from some animal bones (Mikkel was pretty sure they were animal bones anyway), maybe he knew the knots? His boundless enthusiasm and energy was quite tiring, but like Tuuri, he was amenable to being kept out of mischief with projects. It also kept him from blathering on about being a mage. He also had been issued two cards, one with Finnish and one with Swedish, and he was sitting on the floor with the cat on his lap, peering curiously at each card in turn. He looked perplexed, as though the cards had different words on them or something.

Mikkel looked down at his card again, and then quickly looked up at Tuuri, who had suddenly taken a great interest in documenting the pile of books.

Sprinkled among his words, Tuuri had fed him the Finnish words for “inedible,” “squirrel,” “furball” and “gross.”


End file.
